How we envy the birds of the air their blithe
ascendance into the bright blue sky, unfettered
by gravity's surly bonds, living their lives
in three dimensions while we trudge along confined
by two. In our dreams we sweep and soar, but
upon awakening we hug the earth and our primal
fear of falling.

My brother Daniel as a child
dreamed he could fly, and, embraced in Morpheus'
enchantment leapt from a third-storey window,
flew briefly into the branches of an apricot
and tumbled, less far than Icarus, into a freshly
turned garden plot. Only a little scratched
and bounced, he lay in my mother's comforting
arms weeping less from the shock of awakening
in mid-air than from the bitter realization that
he could not fly. We are only what we are, and
improve upon this as best we can. We do at least
have our dreams.